


apricity

by floralin



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, NOT for nct members, blessings and curses (?), hyuckyong are siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23550073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floralin/pseuds/floralin
Summary: lee donghyuck is born immune to the blaze of heat, the second prince of his kingdom to have been bestowed such a power. as he grows up, he learns that it is both a blessing and a curse.
Relationships: Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Lee Donghyuck | Haechan
Comments: 26
Kudos: 184





	apricity

**Author's Note:**

> hello, and welcome back to my jaehyuck shenanigans, in which i interrupt myself in the middle of writing another au by writing more jaehyuck! i wrote this in a day so please take everything with a grain of salt, and i apologize for any grammatical mistakes i've made :( also, the jaehyuck tag needs a royalty au and so i wrote one. i hope it does them justice <3 

Donghyuck is born immune to heat.

Light spills across his skin like gold, the warmth an embrace even on the most stifling of days, like the sun herself took to this little being at birth and decided she would protect him and only him from her wrath. He stands under the burning temperatures and feels no pain.

Donghyuck, the one blessed (or cursed) by the sun, of the Lee kingdom, the knowledge goes across commoners and nobles alike. Child of summer, second to the throne under his brother, Taeyong, both princes mysteriously blessed with unexplainable gifts from two opposing seasons.

Taeyong of the winter blizzards, heir to the throne, known across the lands for his frigid personality and arctic features, pale as snow and cold as death.

Donghyuck thinks they are wrong. Donghyuck thinks they do not know Taeyong, the warmth in his icy blue eyes and the love in his touch. They do not know of his embraces in the cold of winter nights and the way his fingers card through Donghyuck’s hair and the summer-sweetness of his words, the tender kisses pressed upon his cheeks, whispers of _Haechan, my brightest Haechan_.

But Donghyuck cannot make them see Taeyong, just like how he cannot make them see that he is more than the dainty, foolish prince with sunlight in his steps.

Some call it witchcraft and blame their mother. Some say the king tampered with the devil before their births. Some say nothing at all, but Donghyuck feels their gazes when he walks through the streets with the royal guards by his side, and he realizes from early on that the blessing bestowed upon him is unable to protect him from the burning heat of the stares at his back, some of hatred, some of greed, some of lust.

He learns to deal with it, learns to ignore, just like Taeyong has.

 _Abnormal_ , the calls go most of the time. That was alright. Donghyuck can deal with that.

 _Monsters_ , some hiss, the words like a flame to skin, and every time he grips Taeyong’s hand a little tighter and keeps his eyes ahead, always ahead, never lingering, ahead, ahead, _ahead_.

It should make him feel at ease, Donghyuck thinks, that the ones who speak against them inevitably meet the executioner’s blade.

He finds that it only adds to the weight in his chest.

Donghyuck is sixteen years old when he loses his parents to a riot.

It strikes him like an arrow to the heart, the loss of safety, the shield that has always managed to protect him and his brother shattered to bits, because _what now?_ When the rest of the mob reaches them, will they perish as well, Donghyuck wonders numbly, and the fear has always been there—of the day when their parents’ rule is no longer able to repress the anger of those who wish of nothing but to eradicate the supposed omen he and his brother’s existences have brought upon the kingdom.

Still, it is nothing to the way he glances at Taeyong and finds his brother’s gaze, open and vulnerable, the raw panic, unhinged, cutting through his features for only a fraction of a moment before it burns into something much fiercer.

“No,” is the first thing his brother says, and Donghyuck knows he is terrified, can feel the almost impalpable trembles of his hand, yet Taeyong smiles and presses their foreheads together briefly, gentle, always gentle when it comes to the two of them, and then he stands, chin held high.

“Burn this place to the ground,” he orders, and then, with a wave of clear, unrestrained anger he has never displayed so openly before, “I will not allow them to take us.”

It is in that cursed night Donghyuck feels the blaze of his brother’s love brighter than ever before as Taeyong sweeps a palm across his temple, smile dimmed with an edge of pain as he kisses Donghyuck’s forehead and sends him off with a whispered promise.

“I will find you when it is safe,” he breathes, and Donghyuck aches to hold on, to beg him to escape the same way, but he understands the dangers of staying together and can do nothing but pull the cloak over his face.

 _I love you_ , he mouths, hoping, praying that it is not the last time he has the chance to say those words to his brother.

A tear slides down Taeyong’s cheek as he nods and gives the silent command for them to go, and Donghyuck rides off into the darkness, flanked on all sides by several guards all dressed in the same attire.

He does not look back.

For two years, Donghyuck travels from place to place, never staying longer than a few weeks. He waits, patient, and even in the shadows there exists a breath of liberation in the loss of prickling stares and flat judgment; there is something thrilling about living outside of the constraints he has always been bound to.

He waits for his brother with an undying hope, because Taeyong is too intelligent and resourceful to be caught. He grows close with two of his guards, the younger ones, Jaemin and Jeno, who are of his age. He waits and bides his time, the flicker in his heart growing and growing and growing; he spars, he trains himself, he becomes stronger, steelier, until the sunkissed child of June blooms into a prince with gold in his eyes, who dances with the flames, ablaze with the power summer has bestowed upon him so graciously.

The month he turns eighteen, Donghyuck meets _him_.

It is entirely by mistake, the way they stumble into each other in an open, otherwise deserted meadow, Donghyuck’s cloak discarded, his face bathed in sunlight, identity clear as day.

The man’s eyes widen in recognition, and Donghyuck’s fingers clutch around the hilt of his sword only to grasp empty air; he has left it with Jaemin back in their temporary cottage dwelling, and it leaves him with no weapon but his wit.

“Lee Donghyuck,” the stranger says, not with hostility but wonder, and Donghyuck notes how he refers to him by name and not _cursed one_. He does not move forward nor does he back away in fear, merely stands, open, hands not moving to the sword that hangs from his waist.

His eyes are warm.

A faint memory tugs at the base of Donghyuck’s mind and he pulls, catches it and remembers.

“Jung Jaehyun,” he answers accordingly, politely.

The youngest and only prince of the Jung family blinks, and then a smile settles across his face. It is the dimples, Donghyuck notices, that he remembers from the single, distant time they had met before all of this. There is no underlying ill intention behind the smile, nothing but quiet surprise, not unpleasant.

The Jung family has never been quite as shunning as the rest.

“You remember me,” Jaehyun says, and Donghyuck cannot help but notice how tall he has grown, shoulders broader, the soft edges of his face sharpened out handsomely. “More importantly, you are alive.”

Jung Jaehyun, the youngest of four, the only son, known for the charm in his well-mannered ways and for being sought after even more than his sisters. Who gazes at him with something close to awe.

It is the first time Donghyuck’s breath has been stolen from him like this.

“Will you tell?” he chooses to ask, barely above a whisper.

“Not a soul, unless you so wish,” Jaehyun says, truth in his answer, and Donghyuck feels himself exhale.

They stand there, unmoving for a long minute, and then Jaehyun steps closer, tentative, eyes a gentle, charcoal gray. He looks at him differently than anyone ever has, without wariness, without any fear at all. He looks at Donghyuck unlike the greedy, lustful, wanting stares he has grown accustomed to for so long, though they have always left a dirty, ugly feeling plastered to his body—like he is a trinket, a decoration, something to claim.

He looks at Donghyuck like he is something beautiful, but it is overlaid with genuine concern, with a worry that makes him feel jarringly ordinary for once in his life.

As if Donghyuck cannot walk into fires unharmed, as if he cannot spread his arms across the blazing hot sky and feel nothing but a caressing warmth, as if Donghyuck is not blessed—or cursed, depending on the view which one looked from.

“Will you meet me here again, tomorrow?” Jaehyun asks, hesitant, gracing the question with a small, hopeful curve of his lips.

Donghyuck closes his eyes. “Yes,” he says, and allows himself to take that one, small step of trust.

As promised, Donghyuck returns the next morning. And the next, and so on forth.

Every time, Jaehyun is there, waiting patiently.

Every time, Donghyuck takes his outstretched hand and thinks of how easy it is to fall.

He tells Jaehyun about his mother and father, who had tried so hard to protect them, to keep them safe, to keep them sheltered from the hatred of those who held fear in their hearts. He tells him about Taeyong, beautiful, brave Taeyong, his beloved brother, who always bears the greater weight of the stigma due to his icy exterior, who has moved mountains for Donghyuck’s happiness. Who stayed behind to fight their oppressors while sending him far, far away where no one could ever reach.

They do not talk about his blessing often. Jaehyun does not seem to be very interested in it aside from admiring the way Donghyuck’s skin is a glowing, golden bronze as a result from soaking up the light, fingers trailing reverently along the sides of his face, and it is a breath of fresh air from the way Donghyuck’s entire life has revolved around the immunity he was born with and the issues it has brought upon him and everything he touches.

“I do not wish to bring harm upon you,” he says once, and Jaehyun’s hand curls around his, warm, enveloping.

“You could never harm me,” he murmurs, utterly trusting. “It is not your fault others have been unwilling to set aside their fears for the sake of understanding.”

“Your people will be upset,” Donghyuck protests as Jaehyun only draws closer, their foreheads brushing.

“They will see,” Jaehyun answers, “and I shall make sure of it. Trust me, Donghyuck,” he says, and it is a plea, words without command or force, and Donghyuck meets his gaze, open and guileless, heart catching in his throat.

“I do trust you,” he says, allows Jaehyun’s silent question to be answered with an unspoken one of his own, eyes tracing over features, and tilts his head up in the slightest manner. _Will you?_

 _Of course_ , Jaehyun breathes back, meets him there, and finally closes the minuscule distance between them.

It is in his eighteenth summer Donghyuck chooses to plummet, to slowly, carefully, place his own heart into the hands of Jung Jaehyun. He does not know of love beyond the storybooks, but Jaehyun looks at him like he is the glorious sunset itself, with a wonder that steals the breath from his lungs, touch gentle as fingertips trace over his cheekbones, and he thinks that that is enough.

Taeyong returns in the winter one year after.

Donghyuck knows upon the instance Jeno calls for him, tone disbelieving but so, so relieved, and he only hears a “ _My prince, someone is here to see you,_ ” through the snowstorm before he is dashing off into the direction Jeno emerged from, past the thicket that hides them, and tumbles into familiar arms.

The force knocks them both over and they collapse in a heap in the snow, and Donghyuck feels the tears before they come, stinging, a burn different from the kind fire creates. Hands, their coldness painfully missed, reach up to cup his face and brush them away, and he sobs, openly, the droplets freezing before they can even hit the ground.

Taeyong is crying too, the tears clinging to his long lashes, a dazzling smile split across his face, and he looks tired, older, but he is alive, and Donghyuck holds onto him tightly, feeling the fear in his heart that has plagued him for countless months dissipate.

For a long, long while, all they do is hold each other, rocking back and forth as the snow continues to fall around them, calm, without wind. The blizzard has ceased, as if winter has taken notice of Taeyong’s mood and decided she would spare them from the storm under such joyful circumstances, and Donghyuck thanks her silently.

Only when they rise does he notice the guards a fair distance from where they are standing, and Taeyong’s white horse, their family’s royal crest emblazoned on the saddle.

“Did you,” Donghyuck asks, the question sticking in his throat, chest tight with realization.

“I claimed the throne,” Taeyong confirms, and there is exhaustion in his words, in the gauntness of his face, and Donghyuck’s eyes trail across the attire his brother dons, the cloak their father had once worn pinned across his shoulders, the cloak of so many rulers before.

Donghyuck knows it was not easy. There is a new scar that cuts across the left side of Taeyong’s forehead, through his brow and nearly grazing his eye, a scar from fighting so long and so fiercely against the fear-turned-harm instilled in those who did not understand, who refused to accept his existence.

Never let it be said that ice cannot hold fire within.

Taeyong understands upon the very moment he meets Jaehyun, and there is a curious spark to his eyes as he glances swiftly between Donghyuck and the other prince.

Greetings are followed through, formal, and then Taeyong steps forward and bows deeply, a gesture Jaehyun immediately rushes to stop him from because kings do not lower their heads to princes, but Taeyong has always been Taeyong, detached from the ranks of nobility, and he clasps Jaehyun’s hands and thanks him sincerely, gratitude thick in his voice.

“I have cleared our names of all rumors,” he tells Donghyuck later, when Jaehyun has departed, “and they will welcome you if you choose to return.” There is a knowingness to his gaze as he smooths back the curls of Donghyuck’s hair. “And if you choose to stay, or leave for the mountains, for the seas, wherever, you will still be my dearest Haechan, and I will love you all the same.”

Donghyuck thinks of the palace, of all the things lost in the fire, of his old life as a prince, a concept so distant and unfamiliar to him now after three years in disguise, stripped of silks and luxuries, living commonly, plainly.

He thinks of all the rules he will be returning to, all the formalities, the scrutiny he must tolerate for the sake of peace, for alliances and partnerships. Ignore, proceed, ignore, proceed.

The life of royalty has never suited him well.

“You have made your decision,” Taeyong says, and it is not a question. There is sadness in his eyes, but also love, stronger and so much more important, and Donghyuck knows his brother understands that he cannot return.

“I am shedding my title,” Donghyuck answers, firm, “and I will continue to live as Lee Donghyuck, just Lee Donghyuck, in the Jung kingdom.”

“I do not doubt that their son will shed his title just as fast for you,” his brother teases, lighthearted, laughing at the way Donghyuck blushes, but he understands, always understands.

Donghyuck knows this does not mean the end for them; he knows Taeyong will come back to visit and that he will do the same, that they will write long, affectionate letters as often as they can, and perhaps both kingdoms will extend a friendly hand towards each other this way.

“Will you be alright?” he still cannot help but ask, and Taeyong nods. There is light in his eyes, a sort of brightness reflected off the blue, vibrant, and though his brother looks tired, he is happy.

“I have made friends who supported me through the dark,” he assures, and Donghyuck hugs him, soothed in the knowledge that there are more people who are with his brother now, who can be there for him when Donghyuck is gone, and he knows the kingdom will thrive under Taeyong’s rule.

Perhaps this is how it was always meant to be.

Donghyuck approaches Jaehyun the next morning.

“Are you leaving?” Jaehyun asks, gaze flitting over the sight across the clearing—Taeyong, in full traveling attire, flanked by both his guards and the ones who accompanied Donghyuck for three years, all mounted and having bid their goodbyes, ready to leave on command—and there is a slight tremor to his voice, an uncertainty, fear, for the first time since they met, and Donghyuck shakes his head and tugs him closer, disregarding the audience behind them.

“Of course not, silly,” he scolds, “I could never.”

When Jaehyun merely stares at him, confused, he continues, “From this moment on, I am only Lee Donghyuck, and no one will address me as their prince or His Royal Highness and other such titles. It is Donghyuck now, no more and no less.”

“You shed your title,” Jaehyun says, eyes growing wide in realization. “Donghyuck—”

“My decision is permanent,” Donghyuck affirms, effectively silencing him. “With you, here, I have always been happy.”

He smiles at the hope beginning to light Jaehyun’s features, leans up and presses a kiss to his mouth fondly, then goes across the clearing to his brother, who has dismounted, and who pulls him into an embrace.

“I will visit you when spring comes,” Taeyong murmurs, a promise.

Donghyuck does not hold on as tightly anymore, and neither does his brother. They are not bidding farewell, and this is not a goodbye, never a goodbye; this is not a separation of heart but mere land, and it is absurd, the idea that distance could ever force them apart, such a trivial thing compared to all they have seen.

“I will be here to greet you when it does,” Donghyuck responds easily, and he lets go.

“Are you happy, love?” Jaehyun asks once all is quiet, once Donghyuck is wrapped in his arms. The snow has begun to melt.

“I believe I already confirmed that,” Donghyuck quips, but he reaches out, traces along the edges of Jaehyun’s face, kisses his cheekbone, a reassurance. “However, I adamantly refuse to stay in your palace. No more of that for me.”

“Naturally,” Jaehyun replies, sounding amused. “I have never been extremely fond of the starched collars and laced cuffs they put us in.”

He allows the words to linger. Donghyuck stares at him, heart leaping with the implied possibility, and Jaehyun merely smiles, close-lipped and witting, and Donghyuck is overcome with the urge to press him into the snow and kiss him senseless.

“Will you?” he asks, an edge of excitement in his tone. “Do not give me false hope, Jung Jaehyun.”

“My kingdom has never needed me,” Jaehyun says, mirth dancing in his eyes, but there is a truth present in them as well, one that answers Donghyuck’s question clear as day. “It would not be necessary for me to remain as a prince—”

Donghyuck cuts him short, shoves them both down into the powdery whiteness and kisses him, and Jaehyun gives in and laughs into it, hands tugging them both closer, deeper into the snow in complete disregard of the cold, and Donghyuck is wholly, entirely in love with him.

By the end of winter, Jung Jaehyun is no longer the youngest and only prince of his kingdom, and Lee Donghyuck is no longer the one whose existence carries with it a curse.

They step out into the open, unknown ground with their hands laced tightly between their figures, ready to leave their old lives behind to pursue a new one together.

“I love you,” Jaehyun says, tender, “more than words can say.”

“As I love you,” Donghyuck returns, heart expanding tenfold with the confession.

As the sun breaks out from behind the clouds, the weight in his chest is finally lifted.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](http://twitter.com/jaehyuckist)  
> [curiouscat](http://curiouscat.me/yoonohyuck)  
>   
>  _apricity (n.) — the warmth of the sun in winter._  
>   
>  kudos/comments are always appreciated, especially with the new algorithm that ao3 has put out for hits and kudos, so please do be supportive if you liked it !!  
> much love,  
> lin.


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